


I Wonder How It All Started

by thisisnatasha



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec Hardy Needs A Hug, Alec Hardy and His Broken Heart, Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Parent Alec Hardy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sandbrook (Broadchurch)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23227282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisnatasha/pseuds/thisisnatasha
Summary: Alec Hardy's nightmares can only be hidden for so long when he's no longer the only one in the house.Or, Daisy Hardy overhears.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Daisy Hardy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	I Wonder How It All Started

**Author's Note:**

> after falling off a steamship or being swept away  
> in a rush of floodwaters, wouldn't you hope  
> for a more leisurely review  
> — the art of drowning, by billie collins

Daisy, who was supposed to have done her maths homework hours ago, had not, in fact, done her maths. She'd been texting Chloe, who had gone to bed shortly after her dad had asked if she'd done all her homework for the night, to which Daisy had said yes. Like a liar. And then her dad had said goodnight, turned off her light for her and gone to bed himself.

Daisy, not known for her good decisions, had not done the same. She'd stayed up to open and close Instagram; she did the latter when she thought she might go to bed or when her feed bored her, and the former when she was even more bored than before and also simply when Instagram called to her.

She closed Instagram for the umpteenth time, finally shutting off her phone and throwing it beside her. In the dark, she stared up at the ceiling and crossed her arms.

Daisy licked her tongue across her teeth. Should really brush them at least; hadn't gotten around to that bit yet.

Hoping her dad was sleeping, she pushed off her covers and placed her feet on the floor. It all went fine from the time of going to the bathroom, loudly brushing her teeth and doing her final spit in the sink, but when she went to go back to her room and hopefully fall asleep, she froze.

Sound.

And not just creepy house sounds. She drew closer to her door, and to her father's, to identify the familiar noise.

When Daisy was eight, and she had few memories before she was twelve, she almost drowned.

She didn't, obviously, but she had found herself far too deep in the water, and she hadn't been as good at swimming as she thought she'd been. She remembered the waves sucking her under and she remembered going to sleep and waking up in her dad's arms. But the most vivid thing she remembered was looking up at her father's face—his head shadowing the burning sun from her—seeing him wet and sopping, and knowing exactly the difference between the ocean water drenching him and the tears slipping down his face.

This was the only time she could recall her dad crying.

And now, as Daisy stood outside her dad's door, bathed in the hallway light they'd been keeping on through the night since childhood (her fear of the dark had taken some convincing to go away), she recognized the sound behind her dad's door.

She knew distinctly how her father sounded when he was sobbing, and this was it.

Gently panicked, she rapped on his door and, in a tone she thought might be light, she called, "Dad?"

There was a large sniffle, and then a cough. "Daise?"

His voice was weak and shredded. She heard a sudden rustling of blankets.

He didn't have a lock on his door. Her hand went to the knob, but he must have seen it start to turn, because he cried out to her, "I'm okay, darlin', you don't have to come in, I'm okay."

She hadn't even asked if he was alright.

Feeling stronger in her resolve to barge into her father's bedroom, she pushed the door open. Her dad was sat up in his bed, furiously wiping at his eyes that she knew would be red even before he looked to her with swollen eyes. She saw him straighten up, keeping his chin steady and his lips pressed together, but she also saw the way his eyebrows were hardset, how his shoulders begged to tremble, and with only the cool light of the hallway shining on half his face, her own shadow blocking the rest, his face looked more sallow than ever. And pale.

"Dad?"

He pushed a flippant hand out in a forced nonchalant gesture, but she saw the way it was shaking. "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

"You're not alright." she said instead, still held in the doorway, hand on the doorknob.

He did not attempt to justify himself or deny her, but his lip curled in as he began to worry it.

"Dad." she said, finally going towards him, which earned her a shaking breath and cast away eyes of shame, away from her but to the ceiling, presumably to stop the tears from falling. "What happened?"

He blinked a few times, then indelicately rubbed at his eyes again. He swung his legs so he was sat on the edge of his bed. Daisy sat beside him and the bed did not dip much, but it did dip with her weight.

"Go to bed, darlin', I beg of ye."

"I can't."

"You should." he told her.

"I can't, you're sad." she insisted.

He held his head low and she saw the first tear fall in her presence.

She insisted, "I wanna help."

"You shouldn't have to see this," he said, leaning forward, his face in his hands, "I'm supposed to take care of you, not the other way around."

"I can take care of you."

His hands ran past his face to his hair, clenching the already messed up tufts. "I'm your father, Daisy, you shouldn't be taking care of me until I'm grey and old and can't remember my own name. This is exactly why I wanted you to be livin' with T— your mother."

Daisy drew back from him. "You're not sending me back to her."

He nodded his assent, thrusting his hand down the bottom half of his face, feeling the rough of his stubble. He stubbornly only looked at a spot on the floor. "You'd have a conniption if I did, not to mention the aneurysm," he nudged her, "No, Daise, I wouldn't."

"Good." she said firmly.

Comforted by that, she put her arm on her dad's back, which did make him briefly tense, but he relaxed just as fast. He let her smooth circles into his back. He took practiced breaths.

"What happened, dad?"

He sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, his entire face scrunched up. He let his arms drop to rest on his legs, defeated as a gasp was extracted from him, long and trembling before he sucked it back in.

He turned to her, tear tracks staining his face, trying to keep his expression stoic. She let him pull her in for a hug. He held her tightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll tell you when you're older."

Annoyed, Daisy rebuked, "I am older."

He bit out a bitter laugh. "Not old enough for this, love."

"Tell me at least a little bit. Why you were crying."

He held her a little tighter. "They're just— nightmares. Don't worry about me."

As if she chose to worry. "Are they about mum?"

He laughed sardonically. "Not really."

"Not really?" Daisy asked incredulously. Her head was pressed against the space nearly above his collar bone, and almost his neck. She was enjoying her father's warmth. As much as she was loathe to hug in front of other people, she'd missed out on far too many years of her dad's touch. After a brief thought, she secondly asked, "Do you dream of me?"

She felt and heard his breathing suck in and resume faster. She felt his heartbeat stutter. "Sometimes, darlin'."

Worried, Daisy pressed, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, "It's not— don't blame yourself. It's nothin' you did."

She was tempted to pull away to take a look at his face. "But you—"

"S'not because of you. It's just _of_ you. It's what happens sometimes, when you really love someone," he explained delicately, "And something bad happens to ye. It's hard to–to not imagine. If it'd been you."

She wished he would tell her. "Oh."

Daisy stretched her arms further around him. "Are you okay now?"

He sniffled. "Better. Thank you, Daise."

"How often do you wake up like this?"

"Ooh, someone's curious tonight."

"And someone likes to be flighty about answering."

"I miss your childhood," he cut in, "I'd wiggle a flamingo in your face and you'd forget everything else."

"If you had a flamingo..."

He chuckled, and both allowed themselves to stay, and rock back and forth, like the steady ocean outside.

"Dad?"

He hummed in response.

"How often?"

He exhaled. "Not often."

"You're lying." she accused.

Insulted, he said back, "Am not."

"Are too," she drew back to tap at his heart, and fibbed, "I can feel your heartbeat, you know."

Daisy did not know how to tell if one was lying just by listening to one's heart. She just knew her dad.

She wasn't entirely sure if he bought it or if he was just giving in. "A wee bit more than often then."

"A wee bit?"

He took her hand in his larger ones, and looked into the space between his doorframe, where the light was flooding in. "You should go to sleep."

Daisy wiggled away from his grasp, climbing onto his tiny bed and fitting herself under his sheets. "Alright. Na-night, dad."

"Out," he said half-heartedly, motioning for her to get up and leave through the door, "In yer own bed."

"I'm already situated. And comfortable."

"You've not been there a minute," he pointed out, "My bed isn't big enough for me and a sixteen year old."

"Close your door, the light's too bright to sleep with it wide open."

"I might wake up again."

"Then I can hug you while you cry." she replied, and he grimaced at the thought.

"I might not go to sleep again."

"Then the only bothered one will be you, because I'm already half gone."

"Ye said the light was too bright for you."

"It won't be when you close the door." Daisy simpered.

He looked at her for a long moment with narrowed eyes and a twist on his lips that meant he was trying to keep a straight face. "One night."

She pumped her fist in the air victoriously with an utterance of, "Yes!"

"But—" he held up his finger, and used his dad voice, "Only for tonight. You will not come crawling into bed with me every night, nor will you wake up at midnight all the time just to see if I'm sleeping."

"I don't have to wake up at midnight, I'm still awake then."

He sighed deeply.

Switching tactics, Daisy responded sweetly, "Alright, daddy."

She was positively beaming at him.

With somewhat of a groan, he pushed himself off the bed and shut the door most of the way closed, Daisy waiting patiently for him. He gingerly got back into bed, trying not to squish his daughter.

He faced the door, and away from Daisy, who matched his position. Her arms were tucked between her and her dad, her hands under his pillow and her head. Her nose would be in his hair were his head not turned so far down.

She shut her eyes. "Na-night, dad."

"Na-night, darlin'."

**Author's Note:**

> instead of finishing what I've already written, I decided to write an entirely new fic about sad Alec and his daughter.
> 
> more broadchurch fic is on the way, eventually! the longfic is on it's second/third rewrite, and it has a lot of rewrites to go lol. but I'll get there.
> 
> I hope all of you are well, safe and healthy x


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